


Chasing After You

by sinandcakeinorlais



Series: Tumbling Towards Fenders: Works from Tumblr [11]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Fenders, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Post DA2, Prompt Fill, Rekindled Romance, Tumblr Prompt, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 13:16:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5006200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinandcakeinorlais/pseuds/sinandcakeinorlais
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Personal prompt fill submitted by miss-ingno on Tumblr</p>
<p>Nearly two years after the Chantry was destroyed in Kirkwall, a war is slowly erupting between mages and Templars across Thedas, The Circles rebelling against laws that had held them for so long. </p>
<p>Fenris has been out on his own for a year, leaving the painful and bittersweet memories of Kirkwall behind to search for the one person who he had grown to love, but who left him alone to dwell in anger and confusion.</p>
<p>He had been so careful, evading slavers for so long, but now that he is so close to finding what he has been searching for, the slavers have him surrounded...or so they think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing After You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [missingnolovefic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingnolovefic/gifts).



> Tumblr prompt fill:
> 
> "Fenris being surrounded by slavers post-DA2 and there's some big talk on the slavers' side like "we got you now" "no way out of this for you this time, slave" and Fenris just smirks and replies "I don't need your help, mage" and slavers are all confused and from the off there comes a fondly exasperated voice "always so stubborn, elf" and ta-da~ it's Anders :D"

_9:39 Dragon_

Slavers…

Fenris had been so careful, leaving no trace of his stay in Hunter Fell, but they had discovered him anyway. If it had not been for the dwarfs that ran the inn waking him in the middle of night and telling him to flee, he would be on his way back to Tevinter, chained and collared, awaiting his fate at the hands of the Archon. He did not know that he would be so recognizable this far away from Kirkwall. It had almost been a year since he had left the city, but still so many knew of him. They knew he had been there when the Chantry fell. The tale of Viscount Hawke, a mage who came from nothing to triumph over Knight-Commander Meredith, taking the city as his own, freeing the mages within and running all the Templars out. But even before the story of Hawke had reached the lands outside of the Free Marches, the remaining Circles all over Thedas began to fall, rebellion was turning into war, and it was becoming clearer to Fenris that Hawke was not the one the mages had been inspired by.

The track along the Minanter River had been clear for days. He had slept in the trees instead of setting up camp on the ground, thankful that the warm summer nights gave him no need for a fire. He hunted small game only when it had been necessary, throwing the bones into the river to wash away evidence. The Silent Plains stretched over the horizon as he travelled, the border into the Imperium just a two days walk to the north. It was a dangerous place, not just for him, but for anyone who dared to get too close to the land that was under the rule of powerful magisters. Slavers prowled the roads at all hours, and Fenris was so sure that staying close to the river and walking through the sparse woods would be a somewhat safer route.

Nevarra opened up to him after a week of travel, the vast and busy city nestled between steep mountains, the Grand Necropolis in the center of the city giving the elf a rather foreboding welcome. He became apprehensive suddenly as he watched merchants drive carts in and out of the front gates from his hiding spot in the wooded hills, nervous tension coursing through his body causing his lyruim brands to flash a hazy blue. This is were he had been led. This is were the trail of rumors and the massive list of Varric's sources he had been in contact with had told him to go.

Fenris was so close. So close to seeing… him again. After so long…

“We finally caught you, you dirty fucking knife-ear! Drop you weapon and turn around slowly!”

Fenris closed his eyes, chin dropping against the silver clasp of his black cloak. He pulled a gloved hand away from the grip of the broadsword that was strapped to his back and removed the hood of his cloak, a long braid of white hair spilling down his shoulder. Looking up, he quickly counted the slavers, his ears perked and straining to hear how many were behind him. Thirty, an impressive little troop, all armed and wearing the crest of the Imperium, eagerly awaiting for an attack command. Fenris inhaled deeply, the lyruim flaring again, his green eyes staring daggers at the slavers’ captain.

“The Archon has a high price on your head for the death of Magister Danarius, elf. Surrender yourself now!”

_Surrender_. That made him laugh, his teeth gritting under white bangs. He was through with submission. He would never allow another to control him, to force his hand to kill, or drop to his knees. And the thought of the slavers that surrounded him trying to drag him back to Tevinter made him laugh even harder. Another flash of blue light, and his sword was drawn, the shrill sound of collective scraping metal filling the air soon after. The captain then drew his own sword, motioning to three of his men to come forward. Fenris growled deeply, his dark brow narrowed at what the men were carrying: long strands of iron chains, radiating with a entropy hex that pulled heavily at his brands.

“There’s nowhere for you run this time, slave!”

_Slave_. Fenris had not been referred to in such a way in years. The death of his master by his own hand had silenced the term. But that word still carried so much weight when it was spoken. He still felt the shackles that dug into his wrists and ankles; the warmth of blood that pooled in his palm and dripped through his fingers as screams filled his ears; the hot breath that lingered on his spine before his face was shoved into a mattress. He could escape the term, but as faded as they were, he would never lose the memories. He did not wish to. They were a part of him, of who he had become, constantly lingering in the back of his mind and pushing him forward to seek out his own life; free to do what he pleased, free to live as he wished, free to love whoever he wanted…

“We’ve got him this time!”

“No more running, knife-ear! You’ve got no where to go!”

“We’re going to be bathing in gold, boys!”

“One last chance, elf!” The captain took a step forward, sword poised to attack. “Give up now, or I’ll shove a pike up your arse and carry your bloody corpse back to Minrathous myself!”

It was the glint of blue light that caught his eyes first, a shade so similar to his glowing brands. A familiar pull of magic pulsed softly beneath his skin, soothing him, a quiet reassurance that he had waited for so long to feel again. When he at last found the warm amber stare that he had grievously missed hiding among the bushes, one that he had been certain he would never see again, Fenris closed his eyes, a few tears escaping down his flushed cheeks. He inhaled sharply, forcing back the swelling in his heart as the tension released from his shoulders.

The rumors had been true. He was still alive.

The magic pulled away, and Fenris snapped his eyes open, narrowing his brow once again at the slavers. He tightened his grip on his broadsword, shoulders squaring up, his bare feet sinking and finding leverage in the soft ground. He gave his neck a quick twist, the long white braid falling to his back, and watched in amusement as a few of the slavers began to advance toward him, paying no attention to the devilish smirk that was growing on his face.

“This fight is my own, _mage_!” Fenris spoke, his deep voice echoing loudly against the trees, forcing the slavers to halt their advance. “Your assistance is not needed!”

The slavers looked around, looked at each other, then looked to their captain, heads leaning to the side while shoulders shrugged. The captain screamed in frustration, a long string of Tevene curses pouring over them as he rushed forward, his sword in the air and ready to strike Fenris down.

He was instantly frozen in place, trapped in the green fog of a paralysis glyph.

A tall, lean figure cloaked in scarlet and black robes emerged from the thick brush, sporting an amused grin under long blonde hair that flowed freely over pauldrons of glossy black feathers, the hint of a gold earring catching the light of the sun. He waved his hand to one side, throwing several slavers into the nearby trees, knocking them unconscious. Blue light flashed from his eyes, another wave of a hand, and more slavers found themselves stuck to the ground under a thick sheet of ice.

The rest of the slavers began to scatter, and Fenris ran after them, catching them with the edge of his sword, blood and organs flying through the air then coating the forest floor a deep crimson. When they had all been brought down, Fenris stood among their bodies, shaking the blood from his sword, taking a moment to spit on one of the slavers that had held the chains before going back to the slaver captain, still stuck in the paralysis glyph, whose furiously huge stare shifted between the elf and the mage who had trapped him.

“Sodding elf. Stubborn as always, I see.”

Fenris snorted in response, green eyes casting a glare at the blonde in front of him. “And you still dress yourself up as a molting bird.”

Anders chuckled, his long fingers reaching up to stroke at the plumage on his shoulder. “Some things never change.”

The mage walked over to the slaver captain, fully aware the elf was watching his every move. He reached into the glyph and poked the captain on the nose, laughing to himself as the man’s eyes furrowed in anger, his mouth still agape and dripping with drool.

“How did you know to find me here?” Fenris asked, sheathing his sword, still throwing questioning looks to Anders’ back as the mage took off the slaver captain’s helmet and placed it over his own head, immediately ripping it off with a look of disgust on his face and working quickly to smooth down the flyaways of his hair.

“You should really bathe more often.” He replaced the helmet, then reached into the leather pouch that hung loosely over his hip. He produced a folded piece of parchment, a broken wax seal showing the imprint of a dwarven house signet ring.

“Varric.” They replied in unison.

“He’s the only one that keeps in touch.” Anders muttered, returning the letter to his belt pouch, the smile falling from his face as he moved toward Fenris, his fingers finding solace in picking at the swirling black embroidery that run along the edge of the robe sleeves.

“Merrill sometimes draws me little pictures of cats,” He said in a low tone, eyes drifting away to the city below them. “She’s quite talented.”

A warm breeze came between them, filling the sudden silence with a low whistle and the rustling of trees branches, both unable to bring themselves to look the other in the eye. Fenris stomped lightly at the ground and shook his foot, trying to remove the splatters of blood that covered his bare toes, an exasperated sigh falling from his lips when the stains refused to move. He had thought about moment for so long, had run every possible scenario over in his head, his emotions going from a blinding rage to deep despair and back again. He had punched holes in walls throughout his mansion and cried endless amounts of tears, his torturous long days ending in a slouched position against a wall surrounded with empty wine bottles. But now that Anders was in front of him, alive and still a breathtaking vision after almost two years of being on the run, Fenris couldn’t find a single word to say, his thoughts and feelings a jumbled mess. His heart fluttered when Anders cleared his throat and took another step toward him, closing the gap between them, but still acting like he was worlds away.

“So, did Hawke change his mind?” Anders said harshly, blue eclipsing his amber eyes for a split second. “Did he send you to finish the job he was too cowardly to do himself?”

Fenris jerked his head up from his feet, unable to stop himself from replying in the same manner. “Why would you think that I would do his bidding? Hawke did not send me. I came on my own accord.”

“Is that so?” Anders asked, chuckling into a closed fist. “A tragic ending to a tragic romance story. Varric would most definitely approve.”

The mage’s words cut through Fenris, forcing his green eyes back to the ground. “It is…not what you think.”

“Well, you caught me just in time!” Anders spit back sarcastically. “There is caravan leaving tonight, bound for Antiva, just bursting with mages from Rivain. I was planning on leaving with them. They promised me safe passage to Dairsmurd. And did you know that the Circle in Dairsmund does not follow Chantry law? It’s absolutely absurd!”

“And you blindly trust them? They are taking you to city full of assassins, then to a land that is partially controlled by Qunari!” Fenris snapped back, finally meeting Anders’ eyes, trying his hardest not to slap the pompous smile the mage was giving him. “If I had not thought you completely mad before-”

“What choice do I have, Fenris?” Anders yelled, a loud sob catching in his throat when he spoke the elf’s name. “This has been my life! I am doing all I can to survive, doing whatever it takes to keep ahead of Templars! I never asked to be spared!” He paused, pressing his palms into his eyes to hide the water that had gathered in them. “Hawke, he-he should have just-”

Fenris grabbed at Anders’ sleeves and pulled him forward, wrapping an arm around the mage’s slender waist until their bodies crashed together. He placed his other hand behind Anders’ head, weaving his fingers through the blonde locks of hair until his iron grip forced their foreheads to touch, closing his eyes and inhaling the familiar scent of Anders’ magic, an ache ripping through his heaving chest as his own tears finally fell freely. Anders was hesitant to move, his shaking hands unsure where to go, finally settling on the folds of Fenris’ cloak below the elf’s chin, knuckles turning white as he squeezed the dark fabric, his open mouth breathing in the taste of lyruim, settling the raging spirit inside of him.

_Home_ , Justice muttered in Anders’ mind. _This elf is our home_.

The kiss came unexpectedly. Fenris didn’t have time to react when Anders knocked into his nose, warm hands pawing at his wet cheeks in desperation when their lips met. The mage went limp in his arm and fell into him, causing him to loose his footing for a brief moment, too enthralled in the taste of Anders’ mouth to care if he fell backwards. Anders pulled away first after several long moments, staggered breaths escaping his mouth as he put their foreheads back together, his hands still firmly placed on the elf’s face.

“I’ve missed you.” Anders trembled in Fernis’ hold, his fingertips brushing along the bottoms of the elf’s ears.

“ _Amica mea…”_ Fenris whispered back, taking a thumb to the mage’s cheek to gently wipe away the wetness. Anders finally took in some air, his fingers now busy with the white bangs that hung over Fenris’ eyes.

“I never thought I would hear you say that again, not after-”

Fenris lightly chuckled, turning his head into Anders’ palm. “Fool mage. Always assuming.”

“What else was I supposed to think, Fenris?” Anders asked, the words coming out more vicious than he meant them to. He took a moment to breath, then lowered his voice. “You wanted me dead just as much as Hawke did. I saw that look in your eyes.”

“ _Always_ assuming.” Fenris repeated, leaning back to met Anders’ despondent gaze. “I will not deny that your misguided actions angered me. It is something that I still struggle to understand. But do not assume that I wish for your death. After all this-”

He paused to run his gloved thumb over Anders’ bottom lip. "After what we had together, it hurts me deeply that you would still think these things of me.“

“I deserve nothing more than death.”

“ _Vendedis_ , Anders.” Fenris shook his head and pulled the mage back into his arms, burying his nose into Anders’ hair. “I cannot stop you from feeling as you do, but…just know that your death-it will never be by my hand.”

“Come with me.”

Fenris blinked twice, his green eyes wide as he stared into Anders’ amber gaze. “You still wish to go with those mages?”

“Yes, I do.” Anders stated firmly, his voice finally finding some stability. “I can’t stay here any longer. There have too many Templar raids recently. I can’t endanger the lives of the families that have been hiding me any longer. Please, Fenris, come with me.”

“I-” Fenris stammered before Anders cut into his thoughts.

“I’ll-I’ll understand if you don’t. More mages, more…running.” The mage reached behind the elf’s head and carefully tugged at his braid, a sheepish grin appearing for a brief moment. “I’m sure Hawke has a cozy spot set up for you in the Keep, magic-free of course.”

“I do not plan on returning to Kirkwall. I will never call that festering sore of a city my home.” Fenris said abruptly, pulling Anders back to his eyes. “The mages are free and out of control, yet Hawke does nothing to stop them. He has…changed. The power of the seat he holds has taken him down a dark path. It was not the reason I left, but it was enough to solidify my decision. Whatever our friendship was before, it is gone. He blames you for that as well.”

“No surprise there.” Anders scoffed, his fingers still enticed with the elf’s braid, a worried look suddenly overcoming him. “Do you…still love me, Fenris?”

The elf gave Anders a crooked smile before placing another kiss to his lips. “I never stopped.”

“Even after I gave you every reason to give up on me.” A few more tears fell and Anders was quick to catch them with the sleeve of his robe, a small laugh slipping between the tears. "And now here you are, agreeing to forfeit your life by aiding a wanted apostate criminal and blindly follow me to Maker knows where. I swear you exist just to spite me, elf.“

"I will follow you to the ends of the world if it means you will never leave me again, _amatus_.” Fenris stroked Anders’ hair, then his cheek, an intense green gaze burrowing deep into the mage’s eyes. “You have been an irritating thorn in my side since the day we met, but I cannot bear the thought of living without you.”

“Then you never will.” Anders pulled Fenris into a tight embrace. “You know that I won’t ever regret what I did, but I-I’m sorry that I hurt you. You deserved more than I could ever give. If things had gone the way I had planned-”

Fenris quickly pressed his palm to Anders’ mouth and sighed in disgust. “I see your penchant for incessant rambling has not stopped either.”

Anders furrowed his brow, swatting the gloved hand away and flicking the tip of Fenris’ right ear in one swift movement. "Rambling? I was giving you a sincere apology, you ungrateful ass! What do you want me to do? Did you want me to drop to my knees, kiss your feet and beg for forgiveness?“

"It wouldn’t be the first time you have dropped to your knees in front of me.” Fenris chuckled, unable to stop an amused smirk from growing on his face as Anders’ mouth dropped open then instantly closed, his eyes still narrowed in frustration.

“Cheeky bastard.”

“You will have time to grovel your apologies later, mage.” Fenris said with another laugh as he bent down over the bodies. “We have a long journey to prepare for. Do you have any belongings to collect?”

“A few,” Anders replied as he chewed on his thumbnail, watching Fenris intently as the elf began to search the pouches of the dead slavers. "And lots of goodbyes to say. The caravan is leaving at nightfall.“

"You will have to show me where the marketplace is.” Fenris stood up and deposited a handful of silvers into a deep green velvet bag. “It has been many years since I was here last. Danaruis was very fond of this place. Hold onto this.”

Anders held out his hands and teetered forward under the surprise heavy weight of the coin purse. He pulled at the drawstring, exposing a miniature mountain of gold sovereigns accented with over three dozen silvers. "Andraste’s asscheeks, Fenris! Where did you get all of this?“

Fenris finished looting the bodies and dumped his newfound belongings into the satchel hidden under his cloak. "Call it a…‘generous donation’ from the Viscount.”

Anders’ eyes grew wide, his mouth falling open again. “You _stole_ this from Hawke?! What were you thinking?!”

“Trust me, mage. He will not miss it. I doubt he even realizes that I am gone.” Fenris pulled the drawstrings and reclosed the pouch, then pushed it into Anders’ chest. "Now, unless you wish to go back to Kirkwall and turn me in for thievery before you swing from a noose, I suggest we get moving. The sun beginning to set.“

A series of loud and unintelligible moans caught them suddenly, and Fenris turned his head to find the slaver captain still trapped inside the glyph Anders had cast, his dry and wagging tongue trying to form words. The elf silently stared him down, then motioned at Anders as he began to walk away.

"Release him.”

“What? You can’t be serious!” Anders answered with a sneer at the elf’s back. “He’ll attack you if I do that! Just leave him be, Fenris. We’ll be gone long before that thing wears off.”

Fenris came to a halt, then spoke over his shoulder, eyes narrowed and demanding. “Do as I ask, Anders. Let him go.”

“Ugh, fine.” Anders rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, flicking his wrist before following Fenris towards the woods.

The green haze lifted, and the slaver captain fell to the ground, his sword sliding from his grip as he took in gulps of air and tried in a failing desperation to re-salivate his mouth. With his eyes fixated on the back of the elf’s head, the slaver captain rose to one knee, then one foot, finally getting up on unsteady legs. He withdrew a poisoned dagger from his belt, making more threatening groans from his slacked jaw as he staggered forward.

Anders never heard Fenris draw his sword, or the sound of metal hitting solid bone, and it was only after he saw the slaver captain’s head roll one way and the body fall another that he realized what had happened. Fenris said nothing about the incident, only shook the blood from his stained sword and replacing it on his back as silently as he had drawn it. He gave Anders a wink, then offered the mage his hand, sharing a smile with him as they disappeared back into the woods.

Slavers. They never learn.


End file.
